Harry Potter and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
by emilyjaydenlove4ever
Summary: Book 1 of the 7 Harry Potter books where Harry falls in love with Hermione


**Chapter 1**

**The Boy Who Lived**

House number 4 on Privet Drive belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley was, in their opinion, normal. Mr. Dursley was involved in a business called Grunnings that made drills. He was a big and beefy man, very little neck, and had a mustache. However, while Mr. Dursley is beefy his wife, Mrs. Dursley, is thin and blonde, had twice as much neck. The Dursleys had a son which they thought was the best kid in the world. Although the Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret. About the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister. They never mentioned the Potters in the Dursley household. Mrs. Dursley seemed as if she never had a sister, in fact. They were never mentioned because they were as unDursleyish as possible or even more.

When the Dursleys awoke on a boring and dull Tuesday. The sky was its cloudy and gloomy gray. Mr. Dursley was picking between a beige tie and a tan tie. He decided to with beige and thought the tan was too wild. Mrs. Dursley was trying to feed Dudley, their son, some peaches. Dudley screamed and scrambled in his high chair, but the peaches landed in his mouth anyways. Suddenly a beautiful tawny owl past the window, but none of them saw it.

It was half past eight. Mr. Dursley left for the day.

While leaving Privet Drive, Mr. Dursley noticed a cat reading a map. _What the heck_, Mr. Dursley thought. He looked back and saw the same cat, but not a map in sight.

Mr. Dursley was stuck in the morning traffic jam. At that moment he saw what most of the people were wearing. _Cloaks._ They were wearing _cloaks._ Finally when he arrived at the Grunnings parking lot he had his mind on drills. He worked in the ninth floor, and did not see the owls swooping through the sky.

While doing to bakery he passed a group of people in cloaks. Mr. Dursley eyed them angrily. He caught some snippets of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard-"

"-Yes, their son, Harry-"

Mr. Dursley froze in his tracks. He quickly went back to his office. He was calling his home, but put the phone down before he clicked call. _Potter can be a common name. And, so is Harry. Was Harry my nephew's name anyways,_ Mr. Dursley thought.

Mr. Dursley couldn't put his mind with drills. Finally 5 o'clock came and he dashed out of his office. While doing so he hit a man in a deep violet cloak, and Mr. Dursley suddenly became a little angry. "I'm sorry," Mr. Dursley said.

The man smiled and hugged him while saying, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

He was baffled. What was a _Muggle_? He went to his car and hoped nothing was real. Mr. Dursley did _not_ approve imagination.

When he pulled into his drive-way the first thing he saw was the cat-with-marking-around-the-eyes from this morning. "Shoo," Mr. Dursley said. The cat stayed. He headed inside and swore not to tell his wife anything.

"Honey, Dudley learned 'won't'," Mrs. Dursley said. He nodded. Mrs. Dursley then started babbling about one of the neighbors.

"Petunia, have you heard from your sister lately," Mr. Dursley asked?

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister. "No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls… shooting stars… and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today…"

"_So?_" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought… maybe… it was something to do with… you know… _her _crowd."

While Mrs. Dursley was drinking her tea, Mr. Dursley thought he should tell he heard 'Potter'. He decided not to.

"Isn't there son about Dudley's age now," Mr. Dursley asked?

"Yes. Harry. Such a common name," Mrs. Dursley responded in disgust.

"Right you are."

Mr. Dursley didn't say one word as they went upstairs to sleep. While in the bathroom he looked out the window to see the cat still there. Like it was waiting for something…or someone. _That blasted cat,_ Mr. Dursley thought. The Dursleys headed into bed and fell asleep.

Outside was a man. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore. From his pocket he grabbed a silver lighter and clicked 5 or 6 times, and suddenly the street became dark. Albus started heading towards the cat and said, "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled. "How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no — even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls… shooting stars… Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent — I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

"Albus is You-Know-Who _really_ gone."

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense — for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort_." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"What they're _saying_," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that they're — _dead_."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James… I can't believe it… I didn't want to believe it… Oh, Albus…"

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know… I know…" he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke — and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's — it's _true_?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done… all the people he's killed… he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding… of all the things to stop him… but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess." said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

**Hello there fellow Harry/Hermione fans! I add the rest of J.K.s chapter one in the next chapter! WELL REVIEW PLEASE! OH and I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER AND SOME OF THE PARAGRAPHS AND SENTENCES ARE ALL J.K. ROWLING'S. REVIEW!**


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